Great, if the cold didn’t kill them, food poisoning might.
“You’re really nervous about those footprints, aren’t you?” Felicity crossed her arms, still standing across the room and glaring at him.
“They don’t make any sense, Felicity. If someone is desperate enough to be out in this weather, then they’re really desperate. They weren’t coming here for help. They were coming here to scope the place out.”
She visibly recoiled at his words. She sank to the floor in front of the fireplace and rubbed her hands together. “When you put it that way . . .”
“I’m sorry, Felicity.”
She jerked her head toward him. “For what?”
“I hope I didn’t lead trouble here. But I could have. I wish I could remember.” He lowered himself beside her and warmed his hands and face in the growing flames. It just didn’t make sense. Felicity had found him in the snow outside her home. He’d awoken from his blackout on full alert, feeling like danger was impending. Then there was the key. Where had it come from? Now the footprints added one more layer of mystery to an already tense situation.
His apology seemed to soften her shoulders, her eyes. “You’re friends with the police chief?” she finally asked.
“Chief Haven? Yes, I am. He’s a good guy. Why?”
She shrugged. “He seemed nice enough when I met him. I overheard you talking to him. You’re just afraid you’re stuck in a Stephen King novel, aren’t you?”
The first honest smile crossed his face. “Misery? Only I’m not a writer. Maybe the thought crossed my mind.”
“My aunt does have a little crazy in her. But not that much. At least, I hope not.” She flashed a grin.
For the first time since this ordeal had started, he heard himself laugh.
Felicity cleared her throat, as if she’d caught herself having fun when she shouldn’t be, and she stood. “I’m going to get some of the old oil lanterns my grandma left. We’re going to need some more light around here. Being in the middle of nowhere, it gets especially dark at night.”
“Do you mind if I make some coffee?”
She paused half toward the hallway. “Without electricity?”
“Just point me to some grounds, a pot, and some water.”
She continued to stare.
Finally he shrugged. “What can I say? Once an Eagle scout, always an Eagle scout.”
She nodded, as if that was the first explanation that made any sense to her. “It’s all in the kitchen. Knock yourself out.”
As Felicity wandered off to gather some lanterns and flashlights, he found what he needed. A warm drink sounded like the perfect medicine. After he put the water over the fire, he glanced around again.
It was getting dark outside. In early February the days were still short. Forecasters said that next week looked to be sunny and in the sixties. That was the way the weather around here usually worked. He should be used to it.
As he waited for Felicity to return, he walked to the window and shoved the curtain aside long enough to glance out.
He couldn’t see anything, which didn’t surprise him. Everything was white and dull as the snow continued to fall.
Innocent. Everything appeared innocent and clean when blanketed beneath the snow. He’d always thought so.
But right now the snow seemed like sheep’s clothing covering a wolf. What was it hiding?
At once, an image flashed back to him, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
He was in his truck. The wipers were going. It was cold. So cold. Not to mention treacherous.
Suddenly, he hit the brakes.
But why?
What was it? The reason was on the edge of his consciousness. Had it been a deer? Another stopped car?
No, he remembered. It was a man.
A man had been in the road.
Brody had helped him to his feet. Put him inside his truck. Started down the road again.
Then what? What had happened next?
“Are you okay?” A voice pulled him from the memories.
His eyes popped open and Felicity stood there, staring at him with something close to concern in her eyes. She’d put on a snug-fitting gray sweater. His throat went dry for a moment, and he forced his thoughts to focus.
He shook his head, and dropped the curtain, knowing it was too late to regain the memory now. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You just looked like you were in pain or something. Sorry to interrupt you.”
The scent of coffee hit his senses. It should almost be ready. Maybe some caffeine would perk him up. “No, it wasn’t that. It was a flashback, I suppose.”
Her eyes widened. “Of today?”
He rubbed his throbbing temples. “I remember leaving the docks. As I was driving, I saw a man in the road and stopped to help.”
“What next?”
“I remember putting him in my truck. He was nearly frozen. But that’s it. I don’t know what happened after that.”
“To get from the boat ramp to my house, you would have had to turn down a different road. It’s not a straight shot from the docks to here . . .”
He nodded. “That’s true. You think there was a reason I didn’t go straight, directly to the highway?”
“That seems to be the logical conclusion.”
“I wish I had answers for you.”
“Me too.” Her voice sounded wistful.
Just then, something crashed in the distance. Near her aunt’s room.
They both took off running.
Chapter Eight
Felicity’s heart hammered into her ribcage as she thought about her aunt. If something bad happened to Aunt Bonny, she’d never forgive herself. It would be her fault for bringing this stranger into their home. What if he’d brought trouble with him?
Brody reached the room a moment before she did. He held onto the doorframe and propelled himself inside. Felicity nearly collided with his back.
She peered around him, anxious to see if her aunt was okay.
When the room came into view, she released her breath.
Felicity should have known. But she was paranoid and not thinking clearly.
Aunt Bonny stood at a little worktable in the corner, lit by one of her grandma’s many lanterns. She raised her hammer again and smashed another teacup.
“What . . . ?” Brody stepped back, a wrinkle between his eyes.
“She makes mosaics out of broken china,” Felicity explained, chiding herself for being so paranoid. “I think it’s a stress relief for her.”
“Destroying things is always relaxing.” Aunt Bonny raised her hammer again, ready to swing. “You should try it sometime.”
“Aren’t you cold in here, Aunt Bonny?” She’d looked so frail lately—at least when compared to the robust woman she’d once been.
“No, I feel good. When I get cold, I’ll come out. You can count on that.”
“I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Child, I’m fine. Now go on back to whatever you were doing. I’m going to bust some more cups and plates. I’m making a patio tabletop. If you’re nice, I’ll give it to you.”
Felicity resisted, shaking her head at her aunt’s antics. She should be used to them, but she wasn’t.
“Is that normal?” Brody whispered as the dark hallway enveloped them.
“As normal as Aunt Bonny gets,” she said quietly.
“I’m going to go check on that coffee. Do you want some?”
“A warm drink does sound nice.”
Using some hot pads, he took the cast-iron pot from the fire and carried it carefully into the kitchen. Felicity watched, halfway fascinated. She’d been in the world of academia and away from anything survival related. Seeing someone using this kind of skill fascinated her.
A few minutes later, Brody offered her a cup of coffee. The mug had been one of her grandma’s favorites: It had Snoopy on the front and was probably twenty years old. It was one of Felicity’s favorites also.
As
she took the drink, another crash sounded from her aunt’s room. Life was always interesting around her aunt, that was for sure.
Felicity lowered herself into a chair by the fire. “So, you have no idea who the man was from your flashback?”
His eyes glazed with thought for a moment. “No, I don’t. Not yet.”
“You took a pretty big hit on your head. There was glass inside your coat, so your windshield must have broken.”
He shook his head. “I don’t even remember waking up in the truck. I only remember leaving the boat ramp and then waking up here. Thank goodness you found me. Otherwise, I could have frozen to death.”
“Is that your way of saying thank you?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I suppose it is.”
“Then you’re welcome.” A teasing grin played at the corners of her lips.
As a reward, Brody flashed a smile, displaying a row of straight, white teeth and features that looked friendly instead of intrusive.
He leaned on his elbows. “Do you have any other buildings out back?”
“Buildings? Like a garage or shed?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“There’s an old shed and a barn. They’re all falling apart. Why do you ask?” Even as she said that, the truth lingered in her mind. “You think someone could be hiding out there?”
He shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”
“Your gut is telling you there’s some kind of foul play involved in all of this. Why?”
“I’m not sure. Partly the footprints. Partly the fact that I know myself, and I know that I’m careful. I want to see my truck, find out if there are any clues there.”
“That won’t happen until the snow clears.” She parted the curtains and glanced out the window. Darkness had fallen, but she knew the snow was still coming down. They were expected to get a foot, which around here equated to a lot.
He folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’m not one to sit and wait.”
“We don’t have much of a choice.”
“That’s true.”
Felicity settled back in the seat, letting her thoughts carry her away. “Could this be connected with your last rescue on the river? What happened?”
“Chief Haven got a mayday call from the Perquimans. I went to check things out, but when I found the boat, it was empty. The conditions are too dangerous to begin a search-and-rescue effort.”
“You didn’t do it for the Coast Guard?”
“No, I help out the chief sometimes. I’m . . . I’m taking some time off from the Coast Guard.”
“Why?”
“Mostly because I never take time off. Especially not since—” He stopped himself. “Well, just because I don’t. I have so much vacation time built up that my boss urged me to use some of it.”
Felicity couldn’t help but wonder what he was about to say. What had happened in his past to make him a workaholic? She’d been a workaholic . . . until everything fell apart. Now she had more free time on her hands than she knew what to do with.
“Did you tell him that you’re related to Blackbeard?” Aunt Bonny sauntered into the room and paused in front of them.
In an instant, any of the relaxation Felicity had felt disappeared. “Aunt Bonny . . .”
Brody looked at her, curiosity in his gaze. “No, she didn’t.”
To him, this might as well be a campfire story to pass his time. To Felicity, this seemed like another humiliation to add to her already long list. Her aunt loved to tell stories about meeting JFK and spotting UFOs and traveling with the circus—all exaggerations. She’d actually been to a restaurant where JFK had once eaten; she’d seen lights in the sky—most likely a plane; and she’d traveled for a summer with a carnival.
“There’s no story to hear,” Felicity said.
“Sure, there is,” Aunt Bonny said. “You’re related to the infamous pirate. That’s why it was so fun to say ‘batten down the hatches’ when this storm approached. Aye aye, matey?”
Felicity shook her head behind her aunt’s back to let Brody know not to listen to her.
Her aunt sat down, settling in to tell the story she’d been telling for as long as Felicity could remember. She started, repeating about how the grand master of all pirates had docked on the shores outside this home, fallen in love with Loretta Pasture, and together they had a secret love child. Loretta was married, but her husband worked as a fisherman, and he was out to sea for weeks at a time.
“Is this a book you’re talking about?” Brody asked.
Bonny shook her head. “A book? No, of course not. It’s a family story that’s been handed down from generation to generation. Plus, there’s that.” Bonny pointed to something above the fireplace.
Felicity tried not to close her eyes and show her embarrassment. “It’s just a sword, Aunt Bonny.”
“It’s not just a sword, darling. It’s Blackbeard’s sword.”
“I’m pretty sure my grandma found it at a yard sale,” Felicity quickly explained. “She collected swords . . . if you can’t tell.”
There were numerous swords hanging in various places on the walls.
“No, she found that one in the attic. Thank you very much.” Her aunt nodded matter-of-factly.
Felicity had never taken the time to examine it herself, which was strange for someone who liked to research everything. By the time she knew her grandmother had found it, Felicity was immersed in her studies and her job.
She wished she could have come more. Why couldn’t she?
Guilt clawed at her.
She’d glanced at the sword when she arrived two months ago, but she questioned her abilities too much now. Besides, what were the chances?
The disaster surrounding her career had sent her reeling into a state of professional hermitism.
Brody stood to examine the sword himself. “This was Blackbeard’s?”
“That’s right. You can still hear him walking around here at night sometimes. And, candles have been known to mysteriously go out.”
“It’s because the house is drafty,” Felicity explained. “And the sounds are just mice or birds living between the walls.”
Brody nodded slowly. “Still a fascinating story. I heard that parts of this area were his haunts. Like Holiday Island. Some people believe his treasure was buried there.”
“Some people believe there’s no treasure at all,” Felicity quickly added. “Maybe good old Eddie took it all for himself, or maybe it sank to the bottom of the ocean.”
“If it did, maybe they’ll find it,” Brody said. “I’m sure you’ve probably heard they think they found the remains of the Queen Anne’s Revenge down in Beaufort.”
“That’s right. I did hear that.”
“A friend of mine lives down there. It’s really fascinating stuff. It reminds you of a time when life was much different than it is now.”
“You’re Coast Guard,” Aunt Bonny said. “I’m sure you still see pirates.”
He nodded. “A different kind of pirate, but we have encountered some. Thankfully, I haven’t had to walk the plank yet.”
“I’ve got that gypsy spirit in me still!” Aunt Bonny stood and did a little jig. “So does Felicity. She just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Aunt Bonny!” Where Felicity had too many scruples, her aunt didn’t have enough.
“What? It’s true. Deep down inside you’re a free spirit who longs for adventure. You’ve just hidden it behind your stuffy persona for so long . . .”
“I’m not stuffy.”
“Sure you are. Teaching at the college. Doing all of your research papers. Getting your PhD and working for that prestigious firm. That’s stuffy. Not fun. You’re suppressing your inner pirate.”
“I was following my life’s passion. That’s adventurous.” Why did she even feel the need to defend herself? And to defend her position on suppressing an inner pirate, at that?
“You would have done better for yourself if it wasn’t for that Ricky . . .
”
“Aunt Bonny . . .” Felicity’s voice held warning. The last thing she wanted was to rehash the details of her failed love life with a stranger sitting here.
“Okay, okay. I’ve overstepped my bounds.” She picked up a wooden box of dominoes. “Chickenfoot, anyone?”
Felicity closed her eyes. Brody really was going to think they were crazy. Not that she cared what he thought. It wasn’t like she’d ever have to see him again after this snow melted.
“Chickenfoot?” Brody asked.
“It’s a domino game. Certainly you’ve heard of it.”
“I thought it was a pirate game.” He smiled, which delighted her aunt.
“That’s the spirit.” She let out a pirate-like “argh” and hooked her arm.
Felicity rolled her eyes, but Brody laughed. He was finding all of this humorous, wasn’t he?
Felicity suddenly had the urge to feign being tired—only it was too early. She couldn’t jump on the computer—she had no electricity. She had no presentations to prepare for, so using work as an excuse was out of the question.
She was pretty much stuck here, especially if she wanted to keep warm. The rest of the house—the extremities—would be the first to feel the brittle cruelty of the cold.
“All right, I’m in,” she said, before carefully adding, “For now.”
“They’re coming . . .”
Brody sat up in the old recliner, cold sweat across his forehead, as the words echoed in his mind.
He’d had a dream. Or was it a memory?
He couldn’t be sure.
But the images in his head featured the same man from his earlier memory. Brody had rescued him from the side of the road during the snowstorm. The man had climbed into his truck, and then he’d muttered something.
What was it?
Pastor.
At least, that’s what Brody had though he’d said.
But what if he’d actually said, “Pasture,” as in Fanny Pasture, Felicity’s grandma?
He glanced at Felicity now as she slept on one of the two couches across the room. Only her hair and part of her face were visible in the firelight, and she was dead still. Did she fit in with all of this somehow?
Wait Until Dark: Carolina Moon Series, Book 3 Page 5
